Kirkepiscatoid

Last Sunday's Gospel (Matthew 10:40-42) had Jesus explaining the true meaning of the word "welcome."

One of the things I frequently do when a word is used over and over in a Bible passage is to start by attempting to understand the word both in "the vernacular of the time", and "the permutations of the word in the language in which the Bible is written." I always assume SOMETHING has been "lost in translation" between the languages, and between their time and my time. So I start nosing into the word “welcome” as it is used in Matthew 10:40-42. It’s the Greek word “dechomai”, which means “accept.” In some biblical translations, it is “receive”.

Here’s what the Greek lexicon says about “dechomai”. Pay VERY CLOSE ATTENTION to the very first definition!

Dechomai:

1. to take with the hand
1. to take hold of, take up
2. to take up, receive
1. used of a place receiving one
2. to receive or grant access to, a visitor, not to refuse intercourse or friendship
1. to receive hospitality
2. to receive into one's family to bring up or educate
3. of the thing offered in speaking, teaching, instructing
1. to receive favourably, give ear to, embrace, make one's own, approve, not to reject
4. to receive. i.e. to take upon one's self, sustain, bear, endure
3. to receive, get
1. to learn

I discovered this after I had "a tough day with my friend M." M.'s dementia has moved to the point where, although a lot of his mental cognition is still there, "the compass in his head is broken." He was getting lost finding his room, his chair in the dining room, etc. So he was moved to the Arbors (the dementia care unit next to Highland Crest assisted living) this week.

I had come to just spend a little time with him and "sit with him in his hurt place" for a while because unlike some people being moved to a dementia care unit, he KNOWS he's going to a dementia care unit. I was feeling horribly inadequate because all I had for him, the only thing I had left to give that was all mine, my magic “fixit abilities” stripped from me, was MY HAND.

I had no cup of cold water, I had no soothing words, I had no tools in my toolbox, I had nothin’ but my hand...and I instinctively gave it. I held onto his and said, “I won’t let go. I never have, and I never will. All I can do is even if this gets so bad you are not even aware it is me, you know that I will never let go of you. Not now, not ever.” I interlaced my fingers into his—and squeezed it with intensity.

Then I came home and did a little work on the text I had heard earlier in the day and discovered that the meaning of the word that translates as "welcome" in this passage is literally "to take by the hand."

There is a funny aside as I was leaving the assisted care place. As I was walking through the "family room" there was a little worship service going on, led by this fundie preacher. He was going on about how he “has a smile on his face, not because he’s a happy-go-lucky kind of guy but because he has the love of Jesus in his heart, and Jesus always puts a smile on our face.”

"OH, GAG ME!" I was thinking to myself. I had a brief fantasy about yelling, “Oh, piss off, buddy! I’m a SURLY Christian, and one who goes down into my own pit of pain at times, deeper than you’ll ever know, b/c you can’t wipe your doofy smile off your face!” But it made me smile, because I realized I wanted no part of his version of Jesus. I don't want a Jesus who deludes me in to not recognizing a hurting situation. I don't want a Jesus who hides me from the pain of the world, as a little kid is sheltered from the truth. I want a Jesus who shows me his grace and healing from the deepest realms of the darkest pothole of pain that the world can dish out. The one who helps me find my own bravery in the midst of my worst fears. That dude in the worship service, his Jesus won't help me with the real meaning of the word "welcome." I'll keep mine, thank you.